Magic Compatible
by Carrie Swinton
Summary: There are two types of Wizards: those born a wizard, and those who were made a wizard due to a dwindling magical population. By injecting Muggles who are genetically compatible with magic serum, that person has the limited ability to cast spells. Hermione Granger is Magic Compatible, and is grandly reminded of it every day.
1. Awakening

**Disclaimer to JK Rowling**

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 **Chapter One: Awakening**

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 _On the 31_ _st_ _October 1981, Harry Potter defeated the wizard Tom Riddle._

 _No one knows how he did it._

 _The blast from the curse that was cast was so great that Harry remained magicless, drained of his magical core._

 _For almost fifteen years he was hailed at the Boy-Who-Lived, the Greatest Wizard of His Age, whilst he slept._

 _Almost fifteen years later, his magic woke up._

 _And so did he._

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Hermione stirred, feeling sunlight dancing above her eyes. She squinted as she opened her eyes, cursing gently as the sun slipped behind grey clouds. Glancing at the clock that sat on her bedside table, she noted that it was well before seven in the morning. She hated this sort of awakening that came with a lack of curtains, but she had long accepted that it was one she had every sunny morning. It seemed that fate was not on her side and had decided to wake her up a full forty-five minutes before her alarm. A gloom settled on her lonely room, and she realised that fate had been ne'er to kind to her before. It would shock her too much if it started being kind to her now, of all days.

Hermione Granger was not an early-riser, if she could help it. She was not a morning person, but her general invisibility meant no one would go out of their way to irritate her.

This was one of those days where she was grateful for her downtrodden status.

Now fully awake, she quickly ran through her limited options of what she could do before class started. She could spend some time in the library before she went to the kitchens. She normally breakfasted at eight, any earlier and Chef Eideard would object. He had the breakfast of wizards to tend to, and she sadly fell last in line.

She could also visit Hagrid and help him tend to his animals, at this hour, he would probably be getting ready to feed the Thestrals. Preferring invisible animals over alternative number theorems, she lifted herself up. A shiver ran through her body, heating was a luxury that she was not afforded, and she pulled a dressing gown on. Tying the belt around herself, she slid her cold feet in a pair of slippers and walked towards the single bathroom.

Although it was unusual for boys and girls to share a bathroom, this lonely Common Room didn't house many students, and anyone who lived with her had to simply make do. She did used to share with Justin, but he… Hermione splashed cool water onto her face, brushing thoughts of her oldest friend away. She shivered again, and now she felt fully awake.

When she had finished her morning routine, she strode out in the Common area and stared wistfully at the door to her left. Smiling sadly, she turned right and back to her own dormitory. She passed her window, and saw the blaze of colours outside her window. Autumn had fully arrived, and it was a prelude to another bitter Scottish winter. It would be weeks, or if she was lucky – a month, before she would have to huddle in the Common area just to get through the night. Today, all she needed was an extra jumper, and even that was because she was going to visit Hagrid.

Shoving the books for her two classes of the day in her bag, she glanced back at the sad little living space that she called home. Hermione wondered what it would be like to live with a House, and a proper Common Room. The way that Draco described his own only seemed to increase the disparity between their standing. She imagined what it would be like to live with luxe emerald leather sofas, deep mahogany workbenches hued with a pretty green glow. Hermione's Common Room was plain and utilitarian, but it sufficed. It wasn't as if Hermione had spent a lot of time there anyway, most of her time was spent in the library, at Hagrid's or more recently, a disused crumbling courtyard where…

 _Stop thinking about it._

Hermione lifted the tapestry that covered her out-of-the-way Common Room, and hurried out. There wasn't much protection for her rooms but then again, there wasn't much to protect.

Walking past the Great Hall on her way out, she saw some early risers having breakfast. It was always the Ravenclaws who rose the earliest, and Hermione gleaned parts of conversation debating philosophy and theory. A handful of Gryffindors were sat there too, but hardly any Slytherins or Hufflepuffs. If she was allowed to eat in the Great Hall, would she be one of those sat at a table? Would being a Ravenclaw have altered her stance on early rising?

She had always wondered what it was like to eat in the Great Hall. She always saw the hubbub of the Grand Feasts from the kitchens, and drank in the excitement of the house-elves as they prepared for Halloween or the one-time Yule Ball, or Valentine's Feast. It must be exciting to have food appear, instead of thrust at her by an overworked house-elf.

Her right wrist itched, as it usually did, beneath her bracelet. It was times like these where she found herself subconsciously rubbing the area under her bracelet, times where she took stock of her situation. She wasn't usually bothered about the distance between her and other wizards at Hogwarts, but after entering her sixth year, she was no longer the naïve little girl she had been when she was eleven.

Two Gryffindors, Seamus Finnegan and Ron Weasley, almost walked into her as they boisterously entered the Great Hall. The former was using expletives thickly laden with an Irish tilt to convince the latter that an ill-fated Quidditch team was not worth his support, and the latter simply rose his voice speaking over his friend. Hermione had to jump back to avoid being walked into, knowing it was better to avoid a conflict rather than to cause one. Weasley lazily looked at her, his eyes boring through her as if daring her to confront him. Finnegan said something, and Weasley's attention was back to defending his team.

Snorting gently, Hermione walked purposefully out of the Entrance Hall. It had always been like this. Not that people bullied her, people might have felt the wrath of Headmaster Dumbledore if she was driven out of Hogwarts by hateful bullies. _Wizards at Hogwarts_ , Hermione thought to herself, _weren't exactly nice either._

 _Except for one or two_.

"Hullo, 'Ermione!" Hagrid boomed as Hermione bounded the last of the way to his hut. He waved with his spare hand, his other gripped a large wagon that dripped blood all over the dewy grass.

"Good morning, Hagrid," Hermione greeted as she caught her breath, and smiled brightly at him. "Off to feed the Thestrals?"

"Yer know me too well," Hagrid laughed, and he started walking. He took extra care to walk slower to match her pace, dragging his wagon along through the forest. "Yer always come ter see the Thestrals, woulda thought yer would prefer t'unicorns."

"You know I have always been fascinated by the Thestrals, despite not being able to see them."

"'Sa blessin' yer don't," Hagrid said gently, "'But they ain't half bad lookin'"

Hermione said nothing, knowing that he was right. Hermione couldn't see them because she hadn't seen death in her seventeen years, and wondered if she ever would. She didn't want to pry as to what death Hagrid had seen in his lifetime either. Then again, when war was rife fifteen years ago, anyone could have seen death.

She stayed silent, huffing gently as they made their way uphill. Their silence was punctuated by the sounds of the wheels of the wagon hitting uneven rocks in the ground. Several times, Hermione had found herself looking backwards, noticing that they were leaving a trail of blood. She wondered if Hagrid's dog, Fang, would follow the trial up the hill to find them later.

They reached the small clearing where a herd of Thestrals lived. The sun was peeking out of the clouds now, giving the clearing a golden glow. Hagrid whistled loudly, glancing around, and then his eyes settled on something. He grunted as he bent down to pick up a raw cut of meat, and he threw it in the air. A bite mark appeared in the side of it, before disappearing.

Hermione dropped her school bag and reached out towards the raw meat. Motioning her hand and thinking of the incantation to conjure a levitating spell, a slice of meat gently rose. She moved her hand, and the slice followed until she paused. She didn't have to wait long before the meat disappeared, eaten by an invisible Thestral.

"Aim some ov'r there," Hagrid instructed, pointing at a line of trees, "T'young 'uns are too scared ter come out."

Hermione nodded, and levitated slices of meat in the area that Hagrid had gestured. Hagrid watched as the meat flew across the clearing, sometimes telling her to move it left or right, or down and grinned when the meat disappeared in the mouth of a Thestral calf. Satisfied that the young were fed, Hagrid concentrated his efforts on the braver, elder Thestrals. Hermione felt a mouth brush against her shoulder, and a trail of blood was smeared across her jumper as the Thestral nuzzled her arm.

She made a noise halfway between disgust and delight, and grimaced at the blood. Hagrid shooed the Thestral away. Hermione watched as it made gentle imprints in the grass as it walked away.

"Sorry," Hagrid said, wincing at her arm.

"It's okay, Hagrid," Hermione said, and she checked her watch. It was a little before quarter past eight. "If I hurry, I think I have time to change before classes."

"Don't even think abou' skippin' breakfast," Hagrid warned, and Hermione waved him off, as she pulled her bag over her clean shoulder and she scurried down the hill, through the Forbidden Forest. On her descent, she saw Fang, walking sloppily up the hill, his tongue darting in and out of his mouth as he licked the drying blood trial. His head rose, and when he saw her, his tail started waggling.

Hermione had never been one to resist Fang. He scampered over, slobber dribbling out of his mouth and she knelt to give him a small cuddle and scratch. His nose went straight for her sleeve, and she got another helping of animal slobber. Such was life when one spent a lot of time with animals. She caught sight of her watch, and saw that it was nearing half-past. She let go of Fang, and made her way hastily towards Hogwarts.

"You're late," Chef Eideard said when Hermione bounded in the kitchens. She thought she would eat her breakfast on her way back to her room, and that way she may not be caught eating in the mess of people trying to get to class. She had Transfiguration next, which was only one corridor away from her Common Room.

"Yes, but - …"

"Do you not know that I have lunch to prepare for _hundreds_ of students?"

"Yes, but - …"

"I cannot always acquiesce to the whims of a - …"

At that precise moment, Kitty, one of the nicer elves held out a plate of jam on toast for Hermione. Hermione grabbed two slices gratefully and asked for a napkin. Kitty clicked her fingers and one appeared out of thin air. Chef Eideard looked furious.

"Thanks Kit," Hermione said gratefully, wrapping her breakfast in the napkin. She hurried out of the kitchen, and casting the Chef an apologetic look she said, "Sorry, Chef. I'll be on time later."

The Chef huffed and flounced off, rushing to prepare lunch for the hundreds of other students. She grimaced as the bitterness rose in her again, but she had another force to acquiesce. Her stomach was growling now, and she bit happily into her toast. She checked her watch as she swallowed, and rushed out into the Entrance Hall. The Hall was full of students making their way to their classes, and Hermione was stuck at the back of the crowd.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't Granger."

Hermione turned around, with mouth full with toast and saw Draco sauntering towards her, with a cocky grin on his face. Acutely aware that she had bitten off more than she could chew, she could feel embarrassment rising through her. Theo followed him and bade Hermione a good morning.

"Morning," Hermione replied, once she had swallowed her toast. She looked at the floor, deliberately not meeting either of the boy's eyes.

"No Thestrals to feed this morning?" Draco asked, following her as she walked towards the Grand Staircase. Theo stepped to walk on the other side of her, and his nose wrinkled as he noticed her arm.

"Or did the Thestrals try to feed on you?" he asked with amusement, gesturing at her bloodied sleeve.

Draco looked around her and looked at the stain, and within seconds, he had pulled out his wand and vanished the offending mark. Hermione jolted a little, a pink flush creeping up her cheeks.

 _I hate that I'm so reliant on other people's magic_.

Her wrist itched again. She distracted herself by smiling through her annoyance and asked, "Where's the third one of your Golden Trio? Flirting with Weasley again?"

Draco chortled, whilst Theo scowled.

"I thought you were the third one in our trio," Theo said, just as Draco answered, "Not ever since he was caught with Bulstrode in his bed."

Determinedly ignoring Theo's comment, Hermione turned to Draco and smirked, "I thought Blaise knew better than to play with fire."

"Clearly not, he was trying to chat up Lovegood this morning."

Hermione inhaled sharply. Then, she winced. Hermione knew that Ginny Weasley would not take too kindly to Blaise's flightiness, and had probably doled out a harsh punishment. The crowd of people seemed to stall on the first floor, just where her Transfiguration class was that morning. Hermione groaned.

 _What's going on?_

People were clamouring near the Hospital Wing, stagnating the flow of people. Hermione checked her watch, she had ten minutes before she would be late for Transfiguration. She groaned. Standing on her tiptoes, to see what the commotion was about to no avail, she had to resort to sulkily eating her breakfast.

 _Was there another International Quidditch star lurking at Hogwarts that she was yet to find out about? Had Professor Lockhart returned to sign more autobiographies for students?_

"We had to drop him off in the Hospital Wing with a bad case of the Bad-Bogey Hex," Draco's voice pulled Hermione from her thoughts. She turned to face him, and again, that cocky smile was plastered on his face.

"So, you must know what this fuss is all about," Hermione replied, her tone was suggestive, as if she was waiting for Draco to finish her sentence. It never took too much to egg Draco on, since he loved to parade his knowledge around her so much.

"Well, you didn't hear it from me, but Potter woke up."

Hermione blinked for a moment, and frowned at his response, " _The_ Harry Potter? The one who defeated… well, you know who. So-called Saviour of the Wizarding World and Greatest Wizard of our Age, Harry Potter?"

"The one and the same," Draco replied coolly. He didn't seem too impressed with the mass of titles that Potter had accumulated during his slumber. To be honest, neither was Hermione.

"Just when I thought this school was getting boring, something happens to make it interesting," Theo said, looking pointedly at Draco.

Hermione shrugged, and she bit another mouthful of toast. She thought about her words as she chewed and when she had swallowed, she said, "This school has always been boring. Will I see you in the library later, Theo?"

Theo nodded, and Hermione turned to leave.

"One second, Granger," Draco said with a smile, grabbing her arm and holding her still. He pulled a handkerchief from his robes and gently dabbed at the side of her mouth, probably wiping some of the jam away. Once satisfied, he let go of her and smiled.

A blush swept across Hermione's face and neck as she rushed into the mass of people, ignoring the dirty looks she had received from the girls who had seen the rather intimate exchange. It was as if they were asking her, _who are you to be doted on by Draco Malfoy?_ As she pushed further through the crowd towards her class, she was pushed back by disgruntled students, and she could hear their thoughts in their actions, _how dare you, of all people, push into me?_

Hermione didn't care for what they thought, because she would run late for her class if she didn't shove her away through. If Chef Eideard was close to denying her breakfast because she was late for his standards, she feared what Professor McGonagall would do if she was physically late for her class.

Such was the life of a mere Comp.

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 _A/N: Okay, okay. I know I should be updating ch14 of Admonitions, but for the past month (or so), I've had this idea in my head and I wanted to write something that deviated quite a bit from canon, that differed from Admonitions and I keep getting drawn to writing this story [also, I'm rewriting parts of what I have got for Admonitions and nothing is coming out right]. I won't be updating this one as much as Admonitions, and whilst I have a "basic" idea of how I want this story to go, I'm still dithering on pairings/ratings._

 _As for questions, they get answered in the course of the story [I hope]._

 _CSxo._


	2. Beckon

**Disclaimer to JK Rowling**

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 **Chapter Two: Beckon**

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 _The first Compatibles died within the first few years of being injected. It seemed the experiment was too much for their fragile bodies, the magic being much stronger than their willpower. They often exploded, leaving a wake of devastation behind them. It was useful, then, that these explosions where often blamed on enemy attacks in the middle of the Muggle Blitz._

 _The Complete History of the Compatibles,_ by Eldred Miller.

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The first thing that Harry felt was immense thirst. He pulled himself up, squinting in the gentle glow of the morning, clutching at his parched throat. Reaching to his side, he could feel his glasses under his fingers and he pulled them onto his face. The blurs around him slowly focused and he blinked several times as his eyes adjusted. He stretched, his head moving to the side, and he spotted a pitcher of water.

He reached for it, as if it was his personal oasis, and he quickly drained it. Water spilled out of the sides and onto his body, but he didn't care. His only thought was to stop being so _thirsty._

His thirst was still not quenched, even after drinking the whole pitcher and his next instinct was to refill the the pitcher. Reaching for the wand in the drawer of his bedside table, he quickly cast a simple refilling spell. What ensued, however, was the pitcher overflowing uncontrollably. He yelped, throwing the pitcher away and jumping out of bed. The pitcher clattered as it hit the floor, spilling water everywhere and Harry winced.

 _Madam Pomfrey is going to be so pissed off._

Madam Pomfrey was not pissed off.

She barged into the room, and Harry had an apologetic look ready on his face. Her face blanched when she looked at him, and her mouth fell open in shock.

"H-Harry?"

Harry started at that. In the sixteen years of his life, Madam Pomfrey had never referred to him by his first name. It was usually some derivative of his surname, in a tone that was annoyed or furious, but never just _Harry_.

Harry blinked at her, and saw that her eyes were shining, as if tears were starting to form.

Harry had not accounted for what happened next, not for a million years. Madam Pomfrey stumbled over and put her arms around him, pulling him into an awkward hug. Harry awkwardly patted her on her back, and it seemed to trigger something. The woman started sobbing against him, heavy heaves as she gasped for breath, and a tightening grip on him. Harry didn't know what to do, or what he had done to cause this reaction.

People gaped at him through the door of his room, and a small crowd had started to appear. He saw faces that he didn't recognise, and he wondered how long he had been asleep for. A year? Had all the students he knew around him simply grown up and he couldn't recognise them anymore? Were people staring because of Madam Pomfrey's strange behaviour?

It wasn't until someone had called Headmaster Dumbledore to the Hospital Wing before he received an explanation. It had turned out that he had been asleep for almost _fifteen_ years. He looked at his reflection in a window and pulled at his face.

 _Strange, it doesn't look like I've aged a day_.

"Harry," the Headmaster said, and Harry turned towards him. As the Headmaster spoke, Harry noticed that the last vestiges of his former youth had disappeared. His hair was now completely white, the last strands of auburn and grey were gone. Time hadn't been as kind to Dumbledore as it had been to Harry, and it showed. Although he was still the most powerful wizard that Harry knew of, his breaths were more ragged, more sharp. His movements were more laboured. He didn't doubt that given the chance, the Headmaster would still be a formidable duellist, but Albus Dumbledore had really aged.

Dumbledore explained that he had been put in what he described as a 'magical coma'. During the final battle with Riddle, his final spell had drained him entirely of his magical core. Dumbledore subsequently put him in stasis, until his core was strong enough to break the spell itself. He had healed, but he hadn't aged. It explained how his memory was so clear, how he could remember Riddle's advance upon him before Harry had cast that last spell. He could remember the disbelief as Riddle's body crumpled, and it wasn't long before his own body crumpled as well.

"Riddle?" Harry asked. He didn't need to say more than that for Dumbledore to know what he meant. Dumbledore stiffened at the question.

"Defeated," he replied curtly.

"Completely?"

The Headmaster faltered, almost imperceptibly. Had Harry not been trained by the man himself, he would not have noticed his hesitation.

"It was a well-executed spell," Dumbledore said, not quite answering his question.

Harry froze at the answer. Had Harry actually defeated Tom Riddle, the Headmaster would have given him a clear cut answer. The fact that he hadn't worried Harry.

 _Riddle has already robbed me of fifteen years, how much more will he take?_

Noticing the Headmaster's concern rising, he simply accepted the answer he was given and changed the topic of discussion towards attending classes again. The curriculum had probably changed in the years that he had been in stasis, and he had a lot of catching up to do.

The Headmaster was initially reluctant, mostly worried because the first spell that Harry had cast had gone horribly wrong. His magical core had been building and unused for fifteen years, giving bursts of magic that he had to learn to control again. He may just rip another person's arm off with a simple _Expelliarmus_ , and the Headmaster was unwilling to risk it.

But Harry was adamant. He had never been the type to sit around and do nothing. He wanted to get out of the Hospital Wing, to walk around the Castle, to play Quidditch again… At that moment, he realised that his old friends, Jonathan and Hunter, weren't going to be at Hogwarts anymore. In fact, they had probably had jobs and… Harry shuddered at the thought, _families_. They had aged the fifteen years he had been in stasis, and here he was, still an awkward sixteen year-old.

He realised then, that things had gotten quite complicated. He had always wanted a simple life, but the threat of Tom Riddle had driven most of the students at Hogwarts to force themselves to their limit to protect themselves. Harry was never the overly studious type, frustrating his mother to no end. He had wanted to experience the Hogwarts of his parent's childhood, pranks and fun included. His friends were more than happy to be the second coming of the Marauders. Then, at thirteen, his parents were murdered.

It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

He pushed that memory away. Defeating Riddle had never been about gaining notoriety, or saving wizard-kind. He had heard whispers of what people called him. _The Boy-Who-Lived,_ the _Saviour of the Wizarding World_. He wondered if people would still have the same amount of awe if they knew what he had done to defeat Riddle, or _why._

Harry watched as Dumbledore considered it, a war of opinions in his mind as he battled over it. He smiled.

"Anything you want, Harry."

With that, Professor Dumbledore said he would spend the rest of the morning organising his new timetable and living arrangements. Harry was to relocate to Gryffindor Tower – he had put his foot down on having a new room provided for him – later that evening. With a flick of his wand, a folded uniform appeared on the bed next to him.

"It would seem, my dear boy, a crowd has appeared," Dumbledore said with a smile, "I will call a familiar face to escort you to your first class. I believe the sixth-year Gryffindors have Transfiguration this morning."

Like Moses to a Red Sea, he stepped out of the Hospital Wing and parted the crowd into two. Harry was left alone in the Hospital Wing, with another student who had bat-like things flapping on his face. Harry had enjoyed the peace of the morning, and was unwilling to go back into the masses.

 _Am I doing the right thing, going back to classes so soon?_

 _Your mother would have wanted you to._

That reason alone was enough. He didn't have the time to consider all of the downsides of returning to classes, as he pulled off his pyjamas. His first class was going to be Transfiguration and so far Harry was fifteen years late to her NEWT-level classes. The Professor McGonagall that he remembered would have him in detention for being ten minutes late… something he was close to being.

Given Madam Pomfrey's reaction to him, he did wonder if his Head of House would give him clemency for being so late. He shook his head. The flash of arrogance was an heirloom from his father, and was something his mother had tried to stamp out of him during his childhood.

Moving felt alien to him, and his muscles seemed to complain just for buttoning up his shirt. He pulled a face as he felt the tightness of his tie around his neck and pulled it loose. He glanced at himself in the window, and saw that his hair was still unruly. Another heirloom from his father. Another thing that his mother had fretted about. He ran a hand through it, and tried to pat it so that it lay flat to no avail. It bounced back up, stubbornly sticking out at differing angles. He left the room, and the Hospital Wing seemed eerily empty.

It wasn't until he opened the door when was swarmed by curious onlookers. People called his name, as if he was a celebrity, clamouring for his attention. Two people appeared at his side, flanking him and the crowd seemed to clash around them. The boy to his right was strikingly similar to…

"Oi, Potter has a class to get to, and so do most of you lot!" a girl shouted at the crowd. "I'll deduct points for anyone who lingers!"

The threat hung in the air, and clearly wasn't enough of a deterrent.

The boy on his other side winked at Harry, "Phoe Black, at your service."

Harry felt his stomach lurch at the name, as his suspicions were confirmed. He stumbled backwards.

"Phoenix?"

The boy looked sheepish for a moment and said in a hushed tone, "I go by Phoe, Phoenix is a bit over the top, but so is my father for giving me that name."

"B-But… you're supposed to be _two_. Sirius hit me with three Stinging Hexes a month ago for accidentally teaching you the word 'crap'."

"Crap," Phoe said emphasising the last consonant, before grinning. He really looked like Harry's godfather now that he had grown up.

 _And, he had grown up_. Technically, Harry was fourteen years older than him. Physically and mentally, Harry was still a sixteen-year-old, and Phoenix… _Phoe_ , was seventeen years old. He had aged and grown in a way Harry hadn't in the past fifteen years. He wasn't the bumbling toddler that cried every time Harry had to return to Hogwarts, or the boy who thought he could eat soup with a fork. He was slightly taller than Harry now, his brooding Black eyes scanning Harry carefully. Aside from height, he looked exactly how he remembered Sirius.

There wasn't a trace of his mother - whoever she was - in him.

Phoe seemed to command the crowd better than his female counterpart, winking at and meandering around the crowd until there was a path. Harry smirked. Phoe had undoubtedly inherited the Black family charm, and wasn't afraid to use it. He kept up his charade, earning him scoffs from the girl to Harry's right, who still had to push people out of her way. When the crowd had somewhat dissipated, and the girl saw Harry clearly didn't need any assistance to walk the twenty yards to the Transfiguration Classroom anymore, she cast Phoe another annoyed look.

Without another word, she walked away with her head in the air and a sniff.

Phoe rolled his eyes as he watched the girl walk away. Turning to face Harry, he bowed mockingly before standing straight up with a grin. It was Harry's turn to roll his eyes at the boy. He paused when he noticed a flash of silver. Now that Phoe was standing straight, he could see what was clearly pinned onto his robes.

"You're _Head Boy_?" Harry asked incredulously pulling on his robes to examine the badge. Phoe clutched the back of his neck in slight embarrassment as he winced. Harry let go of him and patted him on the arm. It was an odd interaction, considering how much older Phoe was than him, but Harry was still his older godbrother, nonetheless.

"Yeah, dad fell off his chair when he found out," he said, ducking his head. His long, brown hair fell around his face as it reddened. "I think he lamented that Remus had finally led me astray."

Harry smirked, knowing that if Phoe's godfather had a say in his upbringing, then it shouldn't be a surprise the boy was Head Boy.

"My father was Head Boy too," Harry said firmly, "You should be proud of yourself."

Harry's reassurance seemed to elicit a sad sigh from the boy.

"Your father actively sought out being Head Boy so he could pursue your mother," Phoe said sullenly. "Now, dad thinks I fancy Addie."

"Do you?"

"Adira Quisenberry? Even if I did fancy her, I would have to compete against her love for _the rules_." Harry raised an eyebrow as Phoe continued. "Oh, and her love of reminding me about how undeserving I am of this position, more so than Professor Snape."

"I bet Professor Snape had a litter when he found out," Harry snorted.

"That old bat?" Phoe gave Harry a deep look of disdain, "he's been hovering around me since I started, adamant that I arrogantly strut around Hogwarts, just like my father."

"Fifteen years later, and he still uses that line?" Harry asked, shaking his head. "Well, I'll see you later. I have a class to strut to."

"As do I, shall I see you at lunch? Or will you need an escort to the Great Hall?"

Harry shook his head. Phoe gave him a wink before sauntering off. Harry only looked away when he had rounded the corner. Looking at his watch, he saw that he was now at least twenty-five minutes late. He took a deep breath and practised a smile. Hopefully, Professor McGonagall's ire will be lessened by a bright smile. Adjusting the strap of his empty bag, he pushed the door open.

"Sorry I'm late," Harry said quietly, as he stepped into the classroom. He almost tripped on his robes. Tugging uncomfortably at them, he looked up and around the classroom.

The students in the classroom had swivelled around to face him, including the Professor. She stopped writing on the board, her wand held aloft in the air. She turned from her formula filled board, and breathed, "Harry Potter."

Some faces were filled with awe, and the others were shocked. One face, however, remained firmly on the board. The girl continued to scribble down the writing on the board, only looking down to compare it to her textbook.

Even though Harry could only see the back of her head, she felt strangely familiar to him. He was drawn to her, and was almost compelled to sit in the empty seat next to hers. He stopped by her desk, seriously considering it.

 _Five minutes awake and you seem to be already obsessing over a girl, you are exactly like your father, Harry,_ he could hear Sirius commenting in the back of his mind. Acutely aware of himself, he decided against sitting next to her. He walked past the desk and towards the Transfiguration Professor with a shy smile.

"You haven't changed a bit, Professor."

It sounded cliché, even as Harry pondered over what to say to her, but he couldn't think of any other response. The Professor seemed to take it in her stride as she assessed him from head to toe. The woman seemed more diminutive than he remembered.

"Neither have you, late for my class? Did you need a map to get from the Hospital Wing?"

The side of Harry's lip quirked upward. He wasn't sure that she would have remembered his first lesson with her, when he had been late. His excuse had been that he didn't know where the classroom was, and the Professor had kindly suggested a map.

What the Professor didn't know, is that his father and godfather had already equipped him a very good map. He had been making an excuse for oversleeping.

This time, he would admit it.

"No, Professor. I woke up a little bit late."

Professor McGonagall resisted a smile at his understatement, before pressing her lips together. "I will allow you five minutes to acquaint yourself to your classmates."

Harry turned to face his classmates again, and saw that a space had been made in the middle row. Harry glanced at the girl at the back, contemplating that space next to her, but thought against it again. He ended up next to a rather chatty redhead. He introduced himself as Ron Weasley, and proceeded to introduce the rest of the Gryffindors, with added commentary of his own.

"That's Seamus Finnigan, supporter of the _worst_ Quidditch team in the entirety of Wizarding Britain and Ireland."

"Weasley, you little shite."

"Language, Finnigan," Professor McGonagall chided quietly, and Seamus opened his mouth to say something else but Ron had already moved on.

"Lavender Brown, an aspiring Seer but never seems to know when she's clearly in the wrong."

"Bite me, Ron."

"Well - …"

"Weasley, right?" Harry interrupted. The blonde that Ron had introduced as Lavender, looked ready to hit someone and Ron looked smug.

"Yeah?"

"I think I knew a Weasley, a Will Weasley?"

" _Bill_ , yeah. He used to tell us so many stories about you, like how you apparently can speak Parseltongue and set a snake on Snape and that's why he hates you so much. Is that true?"

Harry blinked and laughed nervously, before glancing at the Professor who was writing on the board. He noticed that she was writing a bit slower than she normally did. He also knew that she was listening to them, given she told Seamus off for his language moments ago.

There were some secrets that a Marauder-to-be kept for himself.

"I'm definitely not a Parseltongue," Harry replied carefully, addressing his peers, "and whilst it's true that Professor Snape was a rival of my father's when they were at Hogwarts, he is too professional to hold onto childhood grudges."

Harry turned to his Professor, who was wearing a cat-like grin. When he had last attended Hogwarts, Harry had been plagued – and still was – with the notion that Snape was targeting him. He would complain to McGonagall on a fortnightly basis, so much so that they had had a standing tea appointment and she would give him the same response every time. She would offer him a Ginger Newt, first, but always gave the same response.

 _Whilst it's true that Professor Snape was a rival of your father's when they attended Hogwarts, he is too professional to hold onto childhood grudges_.

"Now, Mr Potter has acquainted himself with the class, shall we get back to Human Transfiguration?" The Professor simply asked. "Textbooks are on the shelf, Mr Potter, but if I remember correctly, you did not have any problems with this part of the syllabus."

Harry felt his cheeks heat up, and ignored the looks from his classmates. He stood up to get a textbook, and his gaze focused on the girl at the back again. Ron had only gotten around to introducing half of the class, so Harry didn't know her name. She glanced up for a moment, and he could see the curiosity on her face. Pink blotted her cheeks as soon as she saw him staring at her, and she looked away, focusing furiously on her work.

Harry sloped to the back of the classroom, taking as much time as he could. He wasn't usually a slacker, as Lily Potter would flay him alive if he was, but it seemed he was a month ahead of his peers. Professor McGonagall continued talking about the theory as he resumed his seat. It would be weeks before they would attempt to transfigure themselves.

The students around him had returned to work, and were scribbling fervently as the Professor explained the mechanics. Harry realised too late that he didn't have any writing equipment. He would have to go to the library before his next class to procure some supplies.

Instead, he simply pretended to listen.

"So you'll be a Gryffindor with the rest of us?" a girl squeaked at Harry, when the class had mercifully finished. Harry vaguely remembered her name to be Violet. He nodded at her.

"It was my House, before I…" he hesitated, not wishing to venture down that path. "My parents were in Gryffindor too, and my dad said that he'd disown me if I was Sorted anywhere else."

"I heard you used to play Quidditch for the Gryffindor team, too," a boy said.

That made Harry turn to Ron, who he assumed would know anything Quidditch-related, "That reminds me, have they already had the try-outs for the Gryffindor team?"

The boy looked abashed for a moment, and awkwardly rain his hand through his red hair, "Yeah, but I'm sure they can make an exception for you."

Harry smiled at him, but he heard a soft snort at the back of the classroom. He knew that it would be the girl who had been sitting alone at the back of the classroom. When he looked at her again, he felt the sense of familiarity again, as if they had met before and he had forgotten her name. That simply wasn't possible, of course, because she must have been a baby the last time he had been awake.

 _Maybe she's your soulmate_.

He disregarded that thought with a scoff, and walked towards the back of the classroom. The girl was pointedly ignoring him, as she finished noting down what was written. The scratches of her quill was the only sound that was made in the growing silence of the classroom.

"I didn't quite catch your name before," Harry said as he stood by her desk. The girl suddenly stood up and started packing her things away. Harry noted that there wasn't much in her bag either, aside from a Rune dictionary and a thin folder for notes. The girl continued to ignore him as she stuffed her inkwell into her bag, and her tucked her quill away.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, and the girl carried on ignoring him. She lifted her bag off the desk and dropped the strap on her shoulder. Harry noticed that she wore a simple black tie, quite unlike his own scarlet and gold one. Her jumper didn't have any House colours weaved into it, nor did her robes bear a House emblem. She turned away, walking towards the classroom door.

 _How odd_.

"Oi, he's talking to you," someone hissed from behind him. The girl paused mid-step, and turned around. She looked at the person who had hissed at her with a contemptuous look, before turning to face Harry.

"Me? You needn't concern yourself with who I am," the girl said, hostility colouring her every word. "I'm nobody."

"Hello, Nobody. I'm Harry," Harry said with a smile, stepping towards her. He hoped that the little joke would bring a smile to her hard features. It didn't, as she turned on her heel and made her way for the door.

"Leave it, Harry." Ron said as he stepped to stand beside him, before nodding at the girl, "She's just a Comp."

"A Comp?"

At that, the girl stopped and made a derisive noise at the doorway. Harry turned to look at her again, and saw she had turned slightly towards them and there was a small smirk playing on her lips.

"Really? Greatest Wizard of our Age and you don't know what a _Comp_ is? I suggest you catch up with Magical History before moving onto advanced things like Human Transfiguration."

With that, she stepped out of the classroom. Harry had half a mind to follow her, but he stayed put.

"Ignore her, she's just a sour cow," Ron said, rolling his eyes. He gestured at the empty doorway, "She's been like this since she realised that she wasn't anything special."

"Well wouldn't you be?" another boy said, as he made to leave the classroom. He paused by the girl's desk, casting it a soft look.

"No one asked her to come here, Neville."

"She didn't ask to be Magic Compatible," Neville looked up and said with a resigned tone, as if he had had this argument many times before. The boy surveyed the rest of his class before settling on Harry. "If you leave her alone, she won't bother you."

With that, Neville swept out of the classroom, leaving everyone else in his wake.


	3. Commonplace

**Disclaimer to JK Rowling**

* * *

 **Chapter Three: Commonplace**

* * *

 _The magical serum is a complicated substance, studied for decades at the Department of Mysteries. Each trial of human compatibles with rife with failure, but each failure said something new about the magical serum. It wasn't until the beginning of the 1980s where a significant change appeared, and the compatibles seemed to withstand the serum for years at a time. The change, was the dampener._

 _Magical Serum and its Properties,_ by Schollier Rich.

* * *

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I heard that Potter appeared your Transfiguration class this morning," Theo said in lieu of a greeting as he pulled a chair back. Hermione grimaced as the boy fell into a chair opposite her.

"Yes, and everyone was positively _moony_ that he deigned us with his presence," Hermione replied. She closed the translation that she had been working on for the past hour or so and clicked her fingers at him. He gave her an apprehensive look.

"I am not a Crup," Theo muttered under his breath.

A smile grew on Hermione's face at Theo's response, and she began to click at him more fervently. Glowering at her, Theo reached into his bag and pulled out a freshly updated Herbology folder. As Hermione reached for it, Theo moved it away from her grasp and pointed at her Rune translation. Grumbling, she picked it up and traded it with Theo.

Hermione spent a lot of time in the library with Theo, often trading notes. Despite Hermione clearly being the cleverer of the two, Theo had more classes than her, so Hermione would barter her own homework for fresh knowledge.

They never spoke about the inequality of the compromise, even if it did hang uncomfortably in the air.

On paper, Hermione certainly didn't look clever. Her OWLs were a mixed bag of _Acceptables_ and _Outstandings._ Usually, the deciding factor on her final grade would be the subject's emphasis on magic. For theory-based subjects, such as Arithmancy and Ancient Runes, she attained some of the highest marks in history. For magical-based subjects like Transfiguration and Charms, she clearly struggled with the magic component of it.

Hermione still remembered sobbing into her pillow at the fact she couldn't perform a _second-year_ Transfiguration spell properly during her OWL practical. She remembered the smug look on her examiner's face, as if she was mocking her and saying, _you aren't even worthy of being here, Comp._

The second stab to her heart was when Professor Dumbledore pulled her into his office at the beginning of the year to tell her that despite her grades, she could only advance five subjects to NEWT-level. Additionally, she could not take up Defence Against the Dark Arts.

Hermione couldn't say she was surprised at the restrictions, but for the sake of being able to study at Hogwarts, she would take it.

Furthermore, the silver lining, as he had put it, was that she was allowed to choose any other subject regardless of grade stipulations. The fact that she had chosen Transfiguration had irked Professor McGonagall beyond belief. To Hermione, _that_ had been the silver lining.

She had hoped for a similar reaction from Professor Snape, but he had moved from the Potions department to take up teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts. She didn't know whether to be happy or sad at the prospect that she was no longer under the tutelage of Professor Snape.

It was because Professor Snape made unfriendly people like Ronald Weasley look like mice. He used to inform Hermione, to the pleasure of her classmates, about her ineptitude and how much she didn't belong at Hogwarts. Sometimes he had detailed it out in small monologues, criticising everything she ever did or Hermione would catch the ending of a whispered soliloquy. It didn't matter what the variation was, but the meaning was the same every time: being compatible didn't make you competent.

The new Potions Professor, Professor Slughorn, was slightly better. That was, if by 'better' it meant treating one as if they were part of the Potions classroom wall.

Hermione turned to the latest entry in Theo's folder, and was reaching into her bag for her own notebook when Theo asked, "So, what did you think of him?"

She raised an eyebrow as she placed her notebook on the table, and returned his question with another. "Of who?"

" _Potter_."

"I didn't think of much, really," Hermione said with a shrug.

Theo snorted at her, "Hermione Granger didn't think of much? _That's_ a new one."

"Fine," Hermione sighed, "I thought that it was more than unfair that if I were to be late for Professor McGonagall's Transfiguration class, it is enough of an offence to get me suspended from the class for a week. However, if _Harry Potter_ walks in twenty minutes late, she simpers in front of the entire class, as well as allowing him five minutes of class time to introduce himself to everyone."

"She _simpered_?" Theo asked, his face was a picture of revulsion and then added, "And stopped her terribly advanced NEWT-level class for _five_ minutes to allow the rest of the class to introduce themselves?"

"Precisely," Hermione muttered. She was already absorbed in the little diagrams of plants and dipped her quill into her inkwell to start copying. Theo clicked his fingers next to her ear, and she jumped a little. "What?"

"So, did he introduce himself to you?"

"Yes," Hermione answered absently, squinting a little at Theo's miniscule cursive handwriting.

"And?"

"What do you think? He looked at me as if he had never seen a Comp before and then pity seemed to befall him. Befitting really, seeing as he is heralded as saving my kind, but you would have thought that -…"

"I'm sorry you felt that way," a voice said from behind, interrupting her little tirade.

Hermione turned to see a red-faced Potter, clutching a stack of parchment and other assorted stationary. The green eyes behind his round glasses looked so alive, that Hermione faltered. An apology itched on the tip of her tongue but she bit down on it. She looked at Theo for guidance, but he was firmly staring at Potter.

"Magic Compatibles didn't attend Hogwarts when I was…" he paused, seemingly trying to find the right word for his predicament. He cleared his throat and continued, "…When I was last at Hogwarts. I didn't realise that was why you were at the back of the class."

 _I suppose there hadn't been a good enough reason for them to be at Hogwarts_ , Hermione thought snidely to herself but pushed that thought to the back of her mind.

Instead, Hermione opened her mouth to say something but Theo interrupted her.

"I'm surprised that you couldn't tell by her shackles," he remarked, and Hermione glanced at her wrists.

The 'shackles' Theo were referring to, were the dampeners that Hermione had to wear all the time. In the Muggle world, they only looked like simple silver bracelets. In the Wizarding world, they were a symbol of her Compatibility status, a sign that she was different from the rest of them.

 _They_ could survive without the use of a dampener, whereas _she_ could not.

Hermione had been born without a magical core, so _technically_ she wasn't a wizard. Her magical capability came from a magical serum that genetic testing had been deemed compatible with her body. Thus, she could perform spells but would never be able to achieve the finesse of a natural-born wizard. Wizards – as Professor Snape had intoned many times over the years – were born with the natural ability to harness their magical cores through practice, and concentrate it through mediums, such as wands, to cast spells. On the other hand, Hermione's magic was parasitic, using her body as the medium, and growing overpoweringly against her will. She had limited control over the magic around her, using it to cast minor spells.

Her one attribute was that she was spades ahead of her peers in terms of wandless and non-verbal magic.

Even though it was only _simple_ wandless and non-verbal magic.

"Dampeners weren't invented until my original third-year," Potter replied softly. "Obviously, there are safety precautions involved with Compatibles who don't have a dampener at Hogwarts."

Hermione tried not to snort.

Of course, Wizards blinded by hubris, had not anticipated that small oversight.

The problem with parasitic magical energy that Hermione had no control over, was that she and everyone else didn't know how to make it stop growing. Hermione radiated magical energy so much that she acted as an amplifier to Wizards around her, even whilst wearing her dampener. It was the main reason why she wasn't allowed to take on NEWT-level Defence Against the Dark Arts, as the advanced part of the course relied on Duelling and practicing dangerous offensive and defensive spell-work. She could make that spell-work move from being simply dangerous to outrageously deadly.

However, there was only so much that magical energy could grow before collapsing in on itself. The first people that were injected lasted mere months before exploding. After years of experimentation, they had increased the life span of a Compatible to several years, but explosions were commonplace in Wizarding Society.

Prior to the invention and implementation of the dampeners, it was illegal for an underage child to be injected for that reason. Most Magical Compatibles had been volunteers or Squibs. That changed when a plucky witch in the Department of Mysteries created the dampeners. It was revolutionary because _anyone_ could be a Compatible, volunteer or not.

 _Well_ , Hermione tried to reason, _the top five per cent of those tested most compatible are actually injected._

Hermione was one of the top five per cent and was injected mere days after she was born. Her parents were only afforded the opportunity to name her before their memories were modified and Hermione was taken to a Compatible nursery where she would live for the next eleven years.

Hermione's earliest memory were the silver bracelets that were bound around her wrists. Due to the dangerous nature of a Compatible without a dampener, the removal of a dampener without Ministry approval was punishable by death. Befitting, Ministry elders had deemed, as a Compatible would die without a dampener anyway.

 _It was how most Compatibles ended their lives._

Due to the strict rules in place, Hermione never knew how she performed in class without her dampeners. They dulled Hermione's magical growth, preventing her from constantly radiating magical energy or using too much of it in class. At first, Hermione had thought it was reasonable, seeing as she was a magical catalyst to those around her. Draco had snorted and said, _"Or a smart way to keep people like you under control."_

Whatever the reason, they worked to the point where she barely scraped _Acceptable_ grades in classes that focused mostly on magic casting ability. It was why she would never be able to fulfil her true potential. It was why every time she felt that shot of bitterness about her situation, the skin underneath them would itch.

Most of the time, she sat at the back of the classroom doing observational work, hoping that one day, if she understood the theory enough, the practical application would come to her.

She snorted at the thought.

 _Such naïveté._

"Perhaps wizards should have thought of that _before_ they injected people with a magical serum that would alter their magical makeup," Theo said coolly, after a moment.

Potter's response was to stare at the floor, clearly there was something about Theo's comment that made him feel suitably uncomfortable.

Hermione's brow lifted at that. Most of the students at Hogwarts would have made a scathing comment about the supposed _greater good_ that Compatibles were destined to serve. Or they would state that whilst cruel, it was part of the reparations that the Muggle community had to pay for the dramatic loss of the Wizarding population. Some may have even noted Theo's heritage, and that he had little right to speak on the matter.

 _Potter doesn't know who he's talking to, though, or else he would have said something._

"Then again, at least there will always be a subservient community to serve a Wizards' base needs," Theo pressed.

Potter spluttered, his gaze darting between Theo and Hermione and his face reddening at the remark.

"I-I…"

"There's no need to be embarrassed, Potter. I assume the Ministry of Magic will have prepared a line of Compatibles for the Saviour-of-our-Kind, or whatever it is they are calling you these days."

There was another reason why Theo called them _shackles_.

The effect of Two World Wars, a Wizarding War against Grindelwald and centuries of inbreeding had been devastating to Wizarding society. First of all, there weren't enough wizards to go around before they were marrying off brother and sister. Secondly, Wizards had finally caught on that inbreeding had long-term physical and mental effects. More and more children were Squibs, or insane, and Muggleborn alliances were rare as Muggleborns were an anomaly in themselves. Afraid or too prejudiced of Muggles to consider integration, Wizards decided to borrow Muggle science and experiment with genetics.

The result was a community of half-Muggle, not-quite Wizards that carried so much magical power that almost no Squib children were born if they were from a Compatible-Wizard union.

Thus, the Magical Population Act of 1947 was passed with no dissenters. At first it was decreed that in every three generations, every Wizarding family had to produce a child of Compatible-Wizard origins or you could opt out with a donation to the Ministry. Fifty years later, amendments to the original Act meant that in every generation, a Compatible-Wizard child had to be born, or else you were given a large fine.

 _The_ Magical Population Act 1947 _was a crock of shit._

Very few families could afford such a price, consequently, one of the main responsibilities of the male heir of a family was to produce an illegitimate child before marrying. Therefore, there was a certain stigma that hung around being too close to a female Compatible.

They were the mistresses of the Wizarding community, nothing more than a _breeder_ , and producing children that threatened the claims of natural born wizards to fortunes and the like.

If Hermione was lucky, after her magical education, she would be a governess for wizarding families that could afford one. At least, that was what Hermione had always thought. As she grew up, that reality was that a Hogwarts-educated female Compatible would be a very valuable commodity for the greater good of Wizard-kind.

Or so, the belligerent Wizards, had liked to put it.

Hermione was a prisoner in a community that she had never asked to be part of, destined to be always at the whim of the Wizards who owned her.

Thus, shackles.

It was why she had a tough time making friends. It was why girls turned their noses up, knowing that as a witch, they would be second-best to a potential husband. It was why Draco was particularly taciturn with her, or why Theo was reluctant to be seen alone with her. The two boys didn't want to seem to be vying for her affections when they had family obligations to fulfil.

Hermione pondered if she would be at the top of Potter's list, when the time came for him to fulfil _his_ duty, or if he had an automatic ability to simply opt out of the practice. Hermione shuddered.

Potter didn't have a chance to reply, as someone rapped Hermione on the shoulder. Hermione turned to see an annoyed looking Hufflepuff Prefect, who looked less-than-happy to be running this particular errand. The Prefect pulled a face at Nott, but embarrassment bloomed over her face when she saw Potter.

Hermione smirked as Potter disappeared behind an aisle. Sufficiently irritated, the Prefect turned to Hermione with a sullen look, "Headmaster Dumbledore would like to see you in his office."

Something akin to lead dropped in the base of Hermione's stomach, almost foretelling what had prompted the Headmaster's sudden interest. The Headmaster often left Hermione to her own devices, summoning her only to tell her something bad. She wondered what the Headmaster wanted with her now.

 _I wonder…_

"But, I-I…"

" _Now_ Granger, I don't have time for this, just do as you're told and follow me."

Breathing in through her nose to calm her nerves, she stood up. If she didn't do what she was told, the Prefect could make her life at Hogwarts quite unpleasant, as many Prefects saw fit to do so. She had to force a smile and kowtow at every opportunity, even if she hated it. She asked Theo to watch over her things, and the boy nodded. Hermione dipped her head and followed the Prefect from the library.

 _In through the nose, out through the mouth. In, nose, out, mouth._

Hermione had to clench her fists to stop herself from shaking, to power-walk behind the Prefect's long strides to stop her legs from giving way. The skin under her dampeners were itching as she walked. The corridors were mostly empty, which meant that the trip was quick, to Hermione's chagrin.

"Parma violets," the Prefect said, and the two gargoyles that guarded the Staircase to the Headmaster's office stepped aside.

Taking a very deep breath through her nose again, Hermione took the first step onto the Staircase. A lump formed in her throat as she raised a shaking hand to the bannister, and forced herself to pulled herself up the stone stairs.

"Hurry up!" the Prefect hissed and Hermione found her legs hurrying against her will. Before Hermione had even gotten to the last step, the Prefect knocked on the large oak door three times. She waited a moment, made sure Hermione was next to her, before entering the Headmaster's office.

Headmaster Dumbledore sat at his desk, a frown dissolving as he dropped a letter that he was reading. The quill he had in his other hand was replaced in its holder and the Headmaster stood to greet them.

"Good morning Headmaster, I brought Miss Granger, as you requested," the Prefect announced, pulling Hermione roughly to her side.

Hermione swallowed loudly, eyes darting from the portraits that adorned the walls to the floor. She was determined not to look at the Headmaster.

"Thank you, Miss Abbott. Would you like a Sugar Quill before you leave?"

"No, thank you, sir."

"Then, you are excused."

Abbott released Hermione, and with a radiant smile, she turned on her heel and exited the office. Whilst she hadn't been the friendliest of people that Hermione had encountered, she desperately wished that Abbott had stayed a bit longer. Any distraction would be welcome at the present moment. She glanced at the portraits of past Headmasters and Headmistresses but they all were asleep, or at least, pretending to be.

"Miss Granger, please take a seat."

Hermione shuffled forwards, ashamed of her weakness and sat carefully into a chair in front of the Headmaster's desk. She didn't look up once. She didn't want to see the sombre look that the Headmaster often arranged on his face whenever she was in this office. She didn't want to see what the Headmaster was about to say.

For once, Hermione wished that Headmaster Dumbledore had something nice to say, like he had reprimanded Chef Eideard and she could dine at any time, or that she was allowed to attend the Halloween Feast. For once, in the miserable years she had spent at Hogwarts, she hoped that it was something other than, " _Miss Granger, I am afraid that I have some bad news."_

It was what he preceded most conversations with, and today was no different.

"Miss Granger, I am afraid that I have some bad news."

"Yes, Professor?" Hermione asked in a voice so quiet, that she wondered if she had even spoken aloud. She focused her gaze on one of the many trinkets that lay upon the Headmaster's desk.

"Miss Granger," the Headmaster began, before pausing. When he had collected his thoughts, he carried on, "the Ministry has requested for your immediate withdrawal from this institution so that you can begin training and deployment on field missions."

Hermione blinked several times, trying to process what the Headmaster had told her properly.

It brought Hermione to the secondary use for Compatibles, and why Hermione's dreams of being a governess had been farcical. That was because, aside from breeding, Compatibles were useful for the never ending battle against Dark Wizards. Had Hermione not scored the top marks to gain entry into Hogwarts, her life would have been utterly different. Had there not been an _exceptional circumstance_ requiring a Compatible at Hogwarts, she would have been a field-Compatible.

The amplification effect that Compatibles provided meant that they were an invaluable asset, especially without their dampeners. Trained Compatibles had the limited ability to channel their magical energy into a secondary medium, such as, another wizard, and bolstering their core. Weak wizards could use a Compatible to bolster their magical cores and be capable of anything. Strong wizards were suddenly capable of extraordinary feats.

To have a Compatible on the field tilted the odds in your favour. To have an army who each had a Compatible on their arm was to secure a victory.

Before Riddle, Ministry officials had their own Compatible partner to help them during the Wars. After Riddle, the rush of power and the feeling of utter domination was considered too addictive for Wizards. Compatibles were rotated around, having to adjust for each Wizard they partnered up with and often being mistreated by their partner, amongst other effects.

Not that anyone particularly worried about the effect these 'field missions' were having on Compatibles.

It certainly wasn't a life that Hermione wanted.

She stood up at the realisation, her legs finally gaining strength and looked at the Headmaster.

"No!"

"As you know the circumstances that allowed you to stay at Hogwarts have recently changed, and the Ministry are keen for you to leave."

She shook her head, not believing what the Headmaster was saying. First the Ministry had taken her freedom, had taken her childhood and formative years, had taken Justin, had taken opportunities, and now was taking _Hogwarts_ from her.

Glass started rattling around them.

"Miss Granger!"

Hermione stepped back, falling onto the chair and hitting her head on the back of it. The glass stopped rattling. The edges of her eyes started to prickle, and her nose started to tingle. The Headmaster started to list of a series of reasons, excuses, ramblings, but Hermione couldn't hear it. She could only hear white noise.

"Please…"

"Pardon?"

Hermione lifted her gaze to meet the Headmaster's and said, her voice wobbling as she spoke in child-like fervour, "Please don't make me go."

It was like something in Hermione broke. Her wrists were burning underneath her dampeners as she fell from her chair and onto the ground in a slump. Her whole body trembled as blood pounded in her ears. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks and hit her hands with a splash.

"Please… Headmaster… please, don't."

"I have no choice, Miss Granger. You are to take a Portkey, _now."_

"I'll do anything, just let me stay," Hermione begged, staring at the floor, the words dragging themselves out of her mouth. They were empty promises, but she was willing to say anything to fill the time.

She was willing to do anything to continue her miserable life at Hogwarts, knowing it would be much worse once she left its comfortable hold.

The sound of footsteps cut through the white noise and Hermione looked up to see the Headmaster move towards her before crouching down with a soft groan. He patted one of the hands that was clutching his rug like it was a lifeline, and looked at her with a small smile.

"Perhaps, I could make a case for you on account of you being an exemplary student… and for your services to… well, you know what you have done."

"You will?"

"You still have to leave tonight, Miss Granger, but I assure you, you may return to resume your studies following what the Ministry has planned for you tonight."

Hermione let out the breath she didn't know she was keeping in and more tears fell down her cheeks, as she whispered, "T-Thank you."

The Headmaster stood up with another groan, and walked back to his seat. Hermione wondered if she imagined it, but for a moment she thought she heard him say, "Don't thank me just yet."

* * *

 _A/N: I apologise if this was a "meaty" chapter, but this was my way of getting the some of the "background" info about Magic Compatibles out of the way, because whilst I have "chapter-openers" that attempt to move the story/history/background along, I tend keep that short and snappy and relevant to the chapter,_ so, _this chapter moves the plot forward only by inches but has a lot of background - if that helps? I don't know._

 _Update: 24/09 - sometimes after publication I read through the chapter and see if I made some errors I didn't pick up on (I probably should get a beta but I work an unreliable timescale that isn't fair for another person to hang on for) and I correct them. This time I did this on the phone app and it messed up the layout, so apologies for that, but it *should* be fixed now. [Note to everyone: do not edit on your phone]._

 _Also, I would like to add here that I am so humbled by your responses for this fanfic. I will respond to reviews and stuff in the next chapter, which is half-way done, and it spurs me on to dance along the keyboards some more._

 _CS._


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